The Transformation Affair
by girl in the glen
Summary: Illya has to undergo a transformation in order to replace a Thrush courier. He and Napoleon have a repair job to do in order to save the mission. Revised ending. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

"What did you say?" The colorist was an authority in her field of endeavor, and had been carefully selected from among a select few professionals. What she had before her now was the most challenging of her career, however, and there had been a few discreet warnings about her 'client'.

"Mr. Kuryakin, we are going to bleach your hair and eyebrows...and body hair. In order to make this look completely authentic, you will need to loose every bit of color. I thought you knew". She could tell that he did not understand completely, or at least not before this moment of explanation. She hated dealing with people who weren't fully commited to the change in their appearance. The faint of heart were a nuisance.

"I was not aware of the...complete procedure. Did you say body hair?" Illya Kuryakin had been disguised, dismantled and generally disarrayed on a number of occasions. He had never before been bleached. The insinuation of what body hair meant was troubling, not that he was a prude or particularly modest concerning his body. He did not, however, relish submitting to chemical substances in certain areas ...

"I assure you, Mr. Kuryakin..." He stopped her, placing a finger on her lips and smiling gingerly, his eyes cloyingly blue beneath the lashes...  
"Illya. My name is Illya, and considering how intimately you are going to know me, I think first names are in order".  
She returned his smile and took his hand in hers, lowering it so that it was held waist high.  
"Illya, I am a professional. I assure you that your privacy is of utmost concern to me, and I will take every precaution to ensure that...uh...nothing...is damaged'. He blushed at that, as did she.  
"And my name is Alison". Such a delicate sounding name for someone who was going to do what she had in mind. He sighed, resigned to yet another bout of transformation in the pursuit of something at times so vaccuous as to appear without resolution. He wondered if being a Soviet in the land of conspicuous consumption and material decadence had pointed him in the direction of this continual reinvention that he endured. What other agent would go through a process such as this? He couldn't think of any other UNCLE agent who regularly underwent such drastic procedures. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps he just dreaded this one.

"Are you going to...down there, I mean...that as well?" He indicated his groin and shuddered internally at the thought of what might occur if she were to...well she would have to wouldn't she. Indeed, only the Soviet was targeted for this type of assignment. It was conspiratorial to subject only him to this humiliation.  
"Illya, we can...well, you can be sedated. You needn't be awake for all of this. We'll do it in stages". The woman had a real compassion for what he must be feeling. Certainly she wouldn't like to undergo something like this, and at the hands of a man. She was pretty sure, however, that he wouldn't want a man doing this either. Better her delicate and...appreciative touch, than some other less admiring individual.

His obvious concern was how his body would react to being...handled in that area. He would no doubt have an erection, and in this circumstance the thought of it made him miserable. Plus, the caustic nature of bleach...just how dangerous was this mission that he had to be prepared for this much examination? Why couldn't Solo be made into an albino? Of course, that wouldn't work. He realized that he was, indeed, the perfect choice. The situation called for his language skills, his fair appearance. The need to recreate the image of albinism had pointed to him. There seemed to be no other agents at UNCLE who could fit the role quite so well as he did...as was so often the case.  
He supposed it was not a conspiracy, rather another instance of his suitability for the job at hand.

"I believe a sedative will work nicely. I appreciate your sensitivity to this...this situation". He meant it. She was kind and she was a professional. It was merely a job, and like him she would do it without prejudice or inappropriate comments or actions. He felt he could trust her.  
"I'll call medical and get someone up here. Believe it or not, I have done this before, and you are in good hands". As she prepped her station with the proper elements, she was aware of the responsibility of her skills and mastery of the products she would be utilizing for this task. His life might depend on her ability to transform his appearance, and his dignity would rest in her hands as well. Oh, my...dignity was one way of putting it.  
Sometimes she loved her job.

When Illya emerged finally, after many hours and a nice nap, from the salon room at UNCLE headquarters, he was nearly unrecognizeable. His hair,all of it, was completely colorless. His eyes stood out like two stray gems, noticeably lighter looking within the pale canvas of his skin and bleached hair and eyebrows. Even the hair on his arms and legs had been lightened; and of course the delicate areas for which he had gladly gone under sedation were equally colorless now; something he hoped no one would be privy to. His eyelashes had been painted white. It was too risky to use chemicals, but the paint would remain on for hours, and he could reapply it, like mascara, whenever needed.  
He donned a new wardrobe to complete the change, exchanging his normal black attire for beige trousers and a pale blue sweater; something that seemed to cause his eyes to appear lighter even than normal. The effect was mesmerizing, and as he passed by several women in the hallway, he felt their eyes following him, not certain at first who he was. Once or twice he heard a gasp of recognition and then wondered if one of them hadn't fainted from the sight of him. His mouth twitched into a half smile at that as he headed for Mr. Waverly's office to submit to his careful examination. The swishing doors that led into the large room marked his entrance, and the effect he had on both Waverly and Napoleon was palpable. He imagined their impressions to be favorable, considering the importance of this assignment. He was unprepared for their inability to speak.  
When at last they did, he had become self-conscious in their presence, wondering if it wasn't quite right, or if he wouldn't do for this part after all. He had no idea really, considering their reluctance to make any comments.  
When at last one of them spoke, it was Mr. Waverly, regaining his words and reaching for the always elusive yet ever present pipe. He touched it gingerly, then began to let his hands roam the surface of the desk in search of a match, keeping his eyes on Illya and still not quite sure what to say.

"Mr. ..uh...Kuryakin...this transformation is...well, I am nearly speechless. You are an entirely different creature, it seems. Have you seen yourself? This really is quite remarkable". It was only bleach, but the woman was an artist. There wasn't a single flaw. The time frame for this mission was short, however. Regrowth would occur and be visible within 10 days, at the most. They had to be in and out...He had to be in and out.  
"Illya, I can't believe that this made such a difference. You look...". Napoleon was still in shock at the sight of his partner looking like this. He couldn't decide if it was anemic or erotic, and found himself slightly shocked at his reaction.  
"Yes, Mr. Waverly, in answer to your question. I have seen the results. They are, as you say, quite remarkable. I assume that I will be leaving immediately, as we are of a necessity on a tight schedule". He was now feeling a little uncomfortable, and self-conscious. He wasn't normally sensitive about these things, but they were staring at him, and Napoleon had a look on his face that was a bit disturbing. He suddenly thought of Alison's hands on him, touchng him...it made him blush slightly and he hurried to his seat, unwilling to stand at the moment.  
"I would like to take another look at the file, if you please, sir. Perhaps we should review the dossier on this individual I am replacing".  
It broke the mood among the three men, getting their attention back on the mission and off of the Russian.

The mission was straightforward enough. Illya would be replacing a courier whom they had intercepted and interrogated only yesterday. He was on his way to Paris with a packet of information that was intended for a Thrush intermediary there, the content of which proved to be headed ultimately for Thrush Central. Rather than replace it, Section One had decided to send along one of their own agents in the courier's place. In addition to the original information, bogus intel was being planted in the packet. If acted upon, Thrush would find itself mired in some decidedly hazardous situations as well as financial jeapardy. It would be up to Kuryakin to make sure that all was thought to be genuine and without compromise. He looked enough like the captured courier to pull it off. The man was, like Illya, a Russian national. He also spoke French and German, common enough. He was stymied by the UNCLE agent when they first met. Their similarities alerted the man that they may try to impersonate him. Under the influence of truth syrums, he was unable to repress any pertinent information, although he did try. The only difficulty had been the man's decidedly albinist appearance. The man wasn't completely colorless, however the required alterations to Illya's appearance had been necessary and, it seemed, exactly right for the subtrefuge. He would most probably pass through this without any impediments to success.  
Napoleon would be close by, his role as a businessman abroad an easy affect for the suave and clever agent. He could keep an eye on his partner and still have reason to be in some of the same places. The designated meeting place for the courier was near the Eiffel Tower, in a very public venue. It was a lucky choice and better to avoid complications, to UNCLE's way of thinking.

The courier's ticket and hotel accomodations were part of the information they had retrieved from his packet of information. All of this was now in the possession of Illya as he boarded the plane with his solitary satchel, the very one the authentic courier had carried. He would be staying, hopefully, only a few days. Anything longer would suggest trouble, and he was hoping to avoid that at all costs. Napoleon had made arrangements to stay in the same hotel, and they would be able to be in contact easily by assuming a casual acquaintanceship during the trip to France. Except for the ordeal of Illya's color changes, the plan assumed no complications. It should be easy.

The first thing to go wrong was being met at the gate by Thrush representatives. They had changed their minds and decided to be at the airport and greet the courier first hand and first thing. Illya was stunned but maintained his demeanor, cool as ever, when the two men approached him as he deplaned. Solo was close behind, careful to maintain a distance however, in case they were also expecting him. The greeting that the Russian received was friendly enough, however they removed the case from his wrist immediately, gathered him between themselves and ushered him through the busy teminal and out to a waiting Renault sedan. Napoleon hurried through with as much speed and nonchalance as he could muster, always keeping the three men in sight as they headed through the building. He was able to catch a taxi and speed along behind the Renault, following as closely as was safe to do so. When he realized where they were heading, he groaned inwardly as he realized the need for a change in plans. He removed his communicator and called in the news:  
"Open channel D...overseas relay, priority..."  
"Yes, Mr. Solo. What do you have to report?" Waverly's voice, always steady and always on duty.  
"Sir, it seems that the plans have changed. Two men picked up Illya at the airport and have brought him to a train station. I'm going to follow them, try to get on board the same train and keep him within view, hopefully".  
"Try, Mr. Solo? I suggest you succeed. We can't lose him now, and we can't afford for Thrush to undo our ruse of information. I am confident you will succeed. Waverly out". Ah, yes...confidence. The CEA sighed as he replaced the communicator in his pocket and dug out his fare for the taxi driver. "Merci, monsieur". Passing the taxi driver his fare without letting Illya out of his sight, he swiftly ascertained the direction in which he and the men were heading, and followed suit. This was no ordinary courier assignment. Illya might be in real danger now, because it appeared that he was supposed to be in possession of something more than the packet he carried. Just once it would be nice if things went as they were supposed to go.

Illya was straining to keep his arms from going numb, the pressure these two men were exerting on him was becoming almost unbearable. He had a bad feeling about all of this, and it didn't help that they hadn't said a word to him since they accosted him and carried him out of the airport betwen them. He had attempted to speak, but they had indicated he was better off silent, so he had obeyed the unspoken dictum. Now, with the train station in sight, he realized he wouldn't be staying at that hotel, and hoped Napoleon had been able to follow them. He foresaw the need of a rescue in the near future. Some things just never changed.

The train station was full of people carrying luggage, small children and, in some cases, baskets of food. Illya knew their destination: the Loire Valley. He hadn't a clue as to where exactly, but the trip would be two hours, more or less, by train. The two men who were escorting him spoke French only between them, and now he attempted to converse with them, interjecting his objection to being manhandled like this since, he was Thrush, after all. What were their intentions?  
They didn't answer, of course. One of them, a blond, punched him from behind, directly into his kidney he reckoned, and he somehow managed to not go down onto the ground. It helped that the other grunt was holding him up, lest he falter too badly. That was the last attempt at conversation.

Napoleon could see them up ahead, and thought he saw one of the Thrush level a blow at Illya's back. That probably hurt, and now he had real concerns for his partner's safety. This wasn't how it was supposed to go down. It was a courier run, for god's sake...he couldn't lose them. Being a quick thinker, the UNCLE CEA decided to simply inquire at the ticket booth where the other party of men were headed , and so it was that he bought passage to Tours. Once there, he would have to improvise yet again. The area was known for it's castles, so he assumed that Thrush might have a satrap of some sort under the guise of a tourist attraction. Americans, especially, loved to visit European castles, and now he would be among them.

The trip was uneventful; Illya managed to nap as was his usual habit when traveling. No point in exerting himself now, he'd need some energy later he was certain. Escape wasn't in order, since his job was to infiltrate the Thrush contingent in the guise of the courier. The fact that they had changed the agenda was of no consequence to completing the mission. He would sleep now and worry about things later. Napoleon, on the other hand, was watching from the back of the car in which they all rode. He had a seat next to an elderly woman and, he assumed, her grandson. He involved himself in conversation with her and the boy, hoping to remain unnoticed since he looked to be traveling with them. The train rolled across lush landscapes after leaving Paris, the allure of France returning once again to the worldwise agent. He did love it here, and could imagine retiring among the vineyards and the castles. That would come later...someday. For now, he had his partner to watch out for.

As the train pulled into the station in Tours, the two Thrush and Illya readied themselves to disembark and were greeted by another dark suited man who ushered them to a waiting vehicle. This time a turquoise colored Citroen DS was to be their ride, and all four men crowded into the car. Illya was in the back with the blond who had punched him, while his cohort occupied the passenger front seat. As they were loading into the car, Napoleon was negotiating a ride with a taxi driver, wishing he'd had time to rent a car. At this juncture, the best he would be able to do was follow them, and then come back to town for the night. He would contact UNCLE Paris and have them bring him a car. If the process was started now, in a few hours he would be able to return and check out the place Illya was bound for.  
The drive out of Tours was not long, and Illya noted the remaining destruction in areas that had not been repaired since the devastation of the war. Some were lobbying to rebuild by tearing down all of the old structures. That would be a pity, but the city wasn't near completion in the effort to regain it's former appearance and appeal. They passed the white houses topped by the region's trademark blue slate roofs. He wondered where they were headed, and in the same instant was confronted by a hood that was being shoved over his head as they wound out into the countryside. It appeared he would not be allowed to know the pathway to their destination. That was a good sign; it suggested that he would be making a trip out of wherever they were heading to now.


	2. Chapter 2

Illya could feel the car turning off of the main road. He assumed it was a driveway of some sort to the destination to which they were heading. Hopefully Napoleon was close by, and would be able to intervene should the need arise. As for himself, this was beginning to seem more and more unlike what he had anticipated. A simple courier drop had turned into a kidnapping, possibly an interrogation; worst cast scenario would be that his cover was blown. Napoleon watched from the window of his taxi, passing the entrance to the chateau that he now knew to be the Thrush location. His partner was in the Citroen, heading for what, he didn't know. He wondered why they had taken him forcefully, changing the plan and ending here at this isolated location. He reluctantly told the driver to turn around and go back to Tours, explaining that he had apparently gotten the wrong directions and needed to make a phone call and correct the information.

As the taxi made the journey back from where they'd started, the agent began to formulate some kind of plan. He needed to give Illya time inside of the chateau; it wouldn't do either of them any good to break his cover before he'd had an opportunity to assure his captors that the information was what they'd sent for, and that he was indeed the courier they had expected. Napoleon knew that some additional digging was necessary back in New York. The man they had detained might have left something out; something key to this operation that was now lacking in Illya's representation of the man and his mission. He had thought they had all that was needed, after this abrupt beginning with all of it's alterations, he had his doubts. He wondered what was in store for his partner at the hands of these apparently suspicious Thrushes.

When the Citroen pulled up in front of the entrance to the chateau, the man in the passenger seat got out and opened Illya's door. They weren't yet willing to remove his blinding hood, so he was escorted up the steps and in through the front doors. He could smell the age in this place, and imagine the furnishings from previous visits to similar buildings. They came into a large entry, the room echoing from it's height and the stone flooring beneath their feet. He could sense it's size somehow, the presence of a stairway off to the right, and closed rooms on either side of this space. From somewhere ahead were the aromas of cooking that triggered a pang of hunger, and he realized he'd not eaten for about eight hours. That was far too long for him, and he hoped they might offer him a meal, as long as he was here.  
"Ah, here we are then, safe and sound. Take off his hood...' someone yanked it off his head, none too gently.  
"You have not been too inconvenienced by all of the mystery, I hope". The man speaking was, to Illya's deep regret, someone he had met previously under less than hospitable circumstances. He assumed they had discovered his deception. Illya replied in the same French as he had been addressed. For now, it seemed, that would be the language of choice.  
"I trust that there was good reason for it, monsieur. Just as I trust now that there will be some explanation for it". He wouldn't assume yet, but would carry on as though he were, indeed, the courier they had expected.  
The eyes of the other man traveled up and over the UNCLE agent's body, looking for something familiar, but finding not enough to engage his suspicions. "We had been warned of some contrivance from UNCLE, but it seems that you have arrived without incident. The package we are expecting is on your person, I assume". He tilted his head slightly as he said that, indicating that it could be handed over now. The waiting was done and it would be down to business.  
"I do, and appreciate that it was not taken from me earlier. That would have been distressing". Illya reached into his jacket pocket and removed the desired item, placing it in the Thrush man's hand as though it were breakable. He paid special attention to the man's eyes, hoping they weren't examining him more closely, but rather attentive to the much anticipated delivery.  
"Ah, yes...here it is. And, you have done well; your patience is appreciated. I understand there was some...misunderstanding earlier. You were physically assaulted? My man will be corrected concerning his treatment of you. Perhaps I can offer something to help asuage your discomfort...a massage, perhaps'...with that he instructed one of the men to go fetch the masseuse and motioned for Illya to accompany another of his associates to what turned out to be his own bedroom. His satchel was there waiting for him, and a special table was set up in preparation for what had already been determined would take place. He was instructed to disrobe and get onto the massage table and wait for the girl, who would be there shortly.

Illya assumed that this was still part of the test. It was a little more subtle than stripping him down and examining his body, but at least he would get some relaxation out of it; it sounded better than a regular Thrush grunt doing the job.  
When the door opened, a lovely young woman entered wearing loose white slacks and an expensive looking silk tee shirt. Her hair was a honey hued brown and tied back into a loose braid that hung to the middle of her back. She entered with all the assurance of one who had done this a hundred times or more, and she smiled when the young albino man turned his head to watch her entrance.  
"Monsieur bonne journe. Je suis ici pour votre massage". Her accent was beautiful, but then this was the place heralded as the home of perfect French.  
"Bonne journ e manquer. J'ai h te de lui". He responded that he looked forward to her services. Then he asked in English...  
"Are you an employee here? It seems an extraordinary privilege to keep a masseuse on the payroll". She was struck by his youthfulness and the intensity of his blue eyes. It seemed inconsistent with the rest of his coloring...or lack of it. When she spoke again it was with an American accent, which was extraordinary considering that her French was so flawless. She must have learned it here, in this region.  
"I stay here sometimes, on a retainer. Monsieur Deneauve is a charming host, and often has weekend guests here to entertain. I am simply here to help them relax". She put some emphasis on the last word, smiling as she did so. The Russian felt compelled to let her do whatever she needed in order to help him relax, it only seemed polite.  
"Well, I look forward to this. Thank you". He put his head into the nook supplied and prepared for the pleasure of something he felt was well earned. Even if he were in a Thrush house, he might as well enjoy what was offered for as long as it lasted. The job of delivering the courier's packet was done. After the massage and, hopefully, a meal, he might be able to be on his way. As the girl began to work on his shoulders, he felt himself being lulled into sleep. Her hands were magical, the touch an invitation to slumber. Try as he might, he couldn't keep from drifting off between satisfied grunts and involuntary movements as she lifted each arm and pulled, then rubbed at well used muscles. Her hands were warm as she worked his lower back, tucking the sheet low enough to get to the tops of his gluts and sides. The backs of his legs were also given a thorough work out, easing out tenseness from the long flight and the train ride. Then she asked him to roll over onto his back. At this point she lit something next to his head...incense he thought. It smelled good, like sandalwood...and he drifted off into a satisfying and deep sleep, totally unaware as she lifted the sheet and examined him more closely. She continued to massage his chest, working her way down his torso and beyond; all of his body hair was the same colorless hue, if that word could be used. Every part of him was embellished with that white hair, even what lay beneath the sheet. He was amazing looking, and she regreted her departure as she closed the door behind her, leaving him asleep in the room.

"So, you believe he is our man, then". The young masseuse responded in an affirmative nod, indicating that all was as it should be concerning the young man upstairs.  
"He is quite perfect. The coloring is uniform, and appears...everywhere...on his body. I don't think I've ever seen anyone quite like him before. Even the slightness of his build belies the muscles beneath. He is a perfect little package, that one, and entirely intact. Savez-vous ce que je veux dire?.".  
Deneauve noted her praise of the young man and understood her reference to his unaltered genetalia. He considered letting her have him for the evening. Perhaps it would not be a bad idea to offer him someone so willing and so desireable. He certainly had no use for her tonight.

"Fine, we shall entertain him this evening and then send him on his way in the morning. We will dispatch another courier with the packet he delivered to us, and it should reach Thrush Central by tomorrow evening. This has gone well, and I will need to call our man in New York and thank him. This information will certainly be an advantage for us in the weeks and months to come". Ethan Deneauve was confident now of his position within the hierarchy. He had thwarted UNCLE's plans, completed the courier's assignment and would now enjoy the bounty of success. Here in France he had an idyllic life, was surrounded by beautiful and charming companions and held his own future resolutely in his hands. It was a small thing to reward those who helped him by sharing the small comforts he could offer. The albino had done well, and would be sent back to New York with his compliments, and his thanks.  
He picked up the phone to make the call to his associate in America, ready to share the good news of a job well done, another victory for their cause. What he heard from the other man chilled him to the core, however. His jovial mood was replaced by a tremor of anger and disgust; both for himself and the man who lay upstairs enjoying his hospitality. "Genevieve, are you certain about his...attributes? He has had no surgeries there?" He was amazed at the thoroughness of this duplicity, but UNCLE had overlooked one very important detail.  
"Yes, he is quite complete. Why do you ask?" The woman was curious, and recognized the anger that was building in her employer as they spoke.  
"The original courier, Mikhail Vlachko, is circumcised. And you say the man upstairs is not...we have among us an UNCLE agent, I believe. That means we cannot trust the information he has given us. Go and wake him up...now. I think that we should talk to the young man and see what he can tell us".  
Genevieve shook her head in disbelief. How could they have accomplished such a thing, to create an albino man to such perfection? He was so beautiful, she dreaded to think what might happen to him. Still, she must go and get him for Deneauve, before she fell into disfavor. The entire affair had taken a most unfortunate turn.

Napoleon Solo was waiting in the lobby of his hotel for the car to arrive from Paris. Standing there, surveying the street and watching people stroll by, he wondered how Illya had fared with the Thrush. Everything should be fine, they had been very thorough, and his appearance was so convincing he imagined that there would be no problems convincing the enemy of his authenticity. He had to have access though, and keep an eye on the chateau for any signs to the contrary. He saw a car coming up the street, the silver color announcing it as one of the prized UNCLE vehicles. The person driving was enjoying the ride, he could tell. When it finally came to a sudden stop in front of the hotel, the driver's side door opened and within he saw a young woman with fiery red hair and a brilliant smile lighting up her face. To say he was pleasantly surprised would be to understate his response. The night was suddenly full of possibilities, and his concerns over his partner slightly diminished in light of this new development.  
"Bonsoir, Monsieur Solo". Napoleon recognized the agent, he had seen her in Paris. He returned her greeting and eased himself into the car, taking the passenger seat willingly. She seemed ready to drive with him and accompany him on his surveillance.  
"Have you been briefed on this?" He wondered how much she knew already. They hadn't checked in with Paris, except for his call requesting the car.  
"Napoleon...may I call you Napoleon?' He nodded and smiled.  
"And your name is...Etienne, is it not". She nodded, approving of his excellent memory.  
"I know we have Monsieur Kuryakin in a chateau outside of Tours. Do you have his situation confirmed?" She sounded as though she were cognizant of at least some of the mission.  
"He is inside, taken by some force it appeared, but I know nothing else about his condition. They had no reason to suspect him outside of normal Thrush paranoia. Hopefully he's not had any problems. Let's get going and we can examine our options when we are at the sight". With that he nodded again, urging her to drive. They would assemble a plan of action when they had the chateau in sight. For now, it was a matter of getting there.

Illya had begun to stir when he heard the door to his room open, a slight groan to the hinges alerting him that someone was entering. Without his special or any other weapons, for that matter, he contented himself with appearing to be still asleep. The face that peered into his own was that of Genevieve, the lovely masseuse who had treated him so well.

"Ah, Monsieur, you are awake. I suggest that you get up and dress, because in a few minutes there will be an expectation of your arrival downstairs. You, it seems, are not the real Mr. Vlachko. There is something about your anatomy that is...uh...more intact, let us say, than the man you have replaced". He understood immediately to what she was referring, and let a Russian curse escape his lips as he betrayed his more than slight irritation at whoever had overlooked that detail. It was not usual for a Russian man to be circumcised. Someone had simply let that one go by, not expecting a detour from what was anticipated.  
"I take it you are going to help me in some way". His eyes betrayed a genuine desire to be gotten out of this dilemma. He didn't want to think about why this detail had even been discussed, or what the expectations would have been from whoever discovered the flaw in his portrayal of the other man.  
"I like you, Mr...whoever you are. I don't think I want to see you subjected to what I know is ahead of you. If you will hurry, we can make a way out of here through a passage I am aware of. But, first you must promise me that you will protect me. Monsieur Deneauve has a far reaching hand in this part of France. I will be in grave danger without your help". She looked imploringly at him, beseeching him with her eyes and the curve of her lips. He felt the danger here, and decided they would move quickly indeed. He was finishing pulling on his boots when she put her ear to the door and indicated that someone was coming.

"Stand back. I'll answer them, if they happen to knock. Which direction will we be going after I take care of whoever is out there?" He wanted to know and be able to act immediately. They seemed to have no time to spare in order to escape from here.  
"We will need to go left from here, and then the passage entry is behind the large portrait at the end of that hallway, just before the landing".  
"Alright, be ready..."  
The knock at the door was hard and less than hospitable sounding. He answered slowly, as though still groggy, indicating that they could come in. As soon as the solitary figure entered the room Illya was on him, grappling with the gun hand and making a decisive chop to the man's throat, causing him to go down sputtering and choking. The deft movements of the Russian enabled him to take the gun, and finish the guard with a shattering blow from the handle of the pistol. Illya dragged him over to the bed and deposited him, tying his hands with a tassled cord from the window, and gagging him with a linen he pulled uncermoniously from the bedside table.  
"Come on, you lead the way"...he motioned for Genevieve to go first, keeping his eyes vigilent for any other Thrush who might appear. Their way was clear, and the girl arrived at the protrait and pulled it back from the wall. There was a doorway behind it, not well used from the look of it. "I don't think they even know it's here. I discovered it one day when I was poking around...curiosity you know". She winked at the agent, glad that she was helping him and getting herself out from the clutches of the man downstairs. She had described him as generous, but in truth he was mean and overbearing. She had never liked him, but the money had been a lure. Too much of one, she now noted regretfully.

"Where will this come out? Have you actually been in here?" Illya was wondering now how well tested this was, and whether or not he may have succeeded by simply walking out the front door. No, too much combat and not enough fire power. This would have to do.  
"I have been all the way to the end. There is a small little cottage no bigger than a shed, near the road; something you missed since your eyes were covered. We will be right there, ready to head down the hill and back towards Tours". He nodded. It sounded good, although they would need cover in order to hide, for Deneauve would most likely start searching for them as soon as he realized they were gone.

"Very well, let's move out. Hopefully we can manage our way back into the city, and hopefully my partner is there and we can all get out before we're discovered". With that they began their descent into the dark passageway. Illya had gathered the contents for his pockets, and his penlight was the only source of illumination now as they carefully traversed the cobbled path beneath their feet. They came to a juncture of two passages, his companion pointing and heading towards the one on the right. He walked beside her in the fairly broad space, anticipating an opponent to appear at any moment. He hoped not, but his reflexes were honed for the inevitability.  
They walked on through the mostly straight and level tunnel for what seemed a long time, but was in reality about twenty minutes. Just as the little light was beginning to flicker out from constant use, they saw a doorway ahead. "This is it, the little cottage. We're here". Genevieve's relief was evident in her voice as she reached for the handle on the old wooden door. Just as she started to push forward on it, Illya had a sudden sense of foreboding concerning their arrival, and pulled her back, signalling her to not make a noise. He thought he heard something on the other side, and guessed that the passageway was not so secret after all, and that Deneauve might have already deduced that he and the girl would come out here. Better to make them come inside, he thought. At least there would be some advantage to his enemies walking into the darkness.  
He pulled the girl back away from the door, farther down the passageway until he felt they would not be heard while conversing.

"Where does the other tunnel lead? Have you been in that direction?" He had an idea, and if the other passageway led to a less obvious destination, they might still be able to use this escape plan.  
"I don't know for certain. I only came through this one once, and went back exactly the same way. What are you thining?" She needed to trust this man, for she was now as much as risk as he. She had dared to defy the master of the chateau, and he would not have mercy on her, she was certain.  
"I think they are expecting us to come out here. They may not know where the other one leads any more than you do. I think we should take a chance that it will be safer than here". He looked intently into her eyes, trying to guage her willingness, and her trustworthiness. She might consider going back to Deneauve a viable alternative to perishing with him.

"I think we should try it then. What is your name? I think I have a right to know". Her eyes were deep brown, he saw that now, even in the faltering light. He was reminded of her touch as she had tended to his body, easing out the tension and fatigue.

"Illya Kuryakin. And now, I think we should go. It is doubtful that we have much time to spare, if any". Back down the passageway, in the dark this time as Illya tried to save what was left of his penlight's batteries. When they approached where he thought the other path broke off, he turned it back on and searched for the opening.  
"Yes, it's there ahead just a few yards. Hopefully it isn't as long a walk as the other, I don't think the light will last much longer. How are you doing?" She turned to him, clutching his forearm and squeezing tightly. Then, much to his surprise she raised her head enough to kiss him, light as a feather. Just a whisper and then she backed away.  
"I think you are very brave, Illya Kuryakin. I just hope we get out of this alive". And with that, they continued on until the passage ended at another wooden door, with the same type of metal latch that they'd seen on the first one at the cottage entrance.

"Are you ready?' his hand was on the latch and he waited for her response before opening the door.  
"Follow me in, alright..." He pushed open the door to find the room they were in empty, save for a table and chair, and a bookcase filled with dusty, leather bound volumes that looked to be at least a hundred years old.  
"I don't think anyone has been in here for a while". Illya was torn between bolting out of the room and stopping to examine the books before him.  
"What is this place?" Genevieve was looking around, fixated as well on the row upon row of books. It looked like a library, but not part of the main house.

"It almost appears to have been a place where someone was...perhaps confined. I see the remains of a mattress over there. But it hasn't been disturbed in a very long time". The blond agent would have liked to remain, but they needed to find their way out of here. If they failed to turn up at the cottage, then Deneauve and his men would return to the house, or start to come by way of the passage that lay behind them now.  
The room had one other door, an obvious choice for them now as they determined to travel on in search of an escape route. As Illya carefully turned the handle on the ancient door, most dust filtered down, covering them both in a fine layer of the stuff. He slowly opened the door, peeking around it to determine if there were anyone on the other side. Nothing. It was faintly lit from beyond what looked like an additional room. This one had furnishings, however, that more closely resembled the rooms above. At least he thought they were below the house. His penlight was etching a flickering path on the floor as they sought out another source of light. There was one more door for them to pass through, a duplicate of the one behind them. Once more, he gingerly laid hold of the door's handle, turning and then pushing forward into a moonlit night. They came out onto a sheltered porch that was encircled by large old trees and flowering jasmine bushes. It was a completely secluded spot, and as he stepped out beyond the trees he saw that they were about a hundred yards from the main house, but completely hidden from view.

"This is an amazing discovery, and one that hasn't been made yet by Thrush. I believe we will be safe here, and can make it down to the road if we cut across the widest part of the grounds. They won't be looking out here, I'm fairly certain". Illya was relieved, as was his companion. They each relaxed now, finding a soft spot of clover on which to sit, still with the main house in view.  
"This is really quite lovely. I wonder who lived here..." Genevieve's voice trailed off as she imagined a romantic tryst of some sort, perhaps a grounds keeper who had carried on a torrid love affair with the lady of the house...or chateau.

"Someone who loved books, that's for certain. I envy him the time he had for his pursuits". The Russian loved books, loved learning and searching out answers to all manner of questions. This would have been a very satisfying life, had he lived in another time. His features were gaunt looking against the frame of white hair, and his demeanor suggested an approaching melancholy. The girl examined him, half expecting him to recite lines of poetry to her as they now reclined on the cushion of clover grass. For a short while, the terror of facing Deneauve was forgotten; Illya broke the reverie with his return to speculation concerning their plans of escape.  
"My partner is, I hope, close by. He may even come here. I think we should try and find our way back out to the road, and then begin our walk back into Tours. He will be either here or there, if he is in the area at all". He didn't want Napoleon to get caught and taken to the chateau. They would be even worse off then, should he require rescuing. It was bad enough that the courier cover had been broken. Thrush would be most unlikely to utilize any of the information contained in that packet. All because he had a hooded...

"Illya...' her voice broke his train of thought...  
"I was wondering if, after this is over, we might still be able to...spend some time together". Her eyes met his full on, not allowing him to avoid answering her question.  
"I think we could arrange something". The corner of his mouth twitched as it tried to resist forming a smile. He wished without conviction that the mission weren't still so imperative to finish.  
"For now, though, I have work to finish here. Let's go, ". With that he got up and offered his hand to her as she slowly rose from the luxurious matte of grass. At the end he jerked her forward so that she landed hard against his body, one hand behind her head as he released all his reserve and kissed her, softly at first and then with a fierceness that removed all doubt as to what might lay ahead for them...afterwards.  
Just as quickly he was leading her away from the little house and across the chateau's park grounds, towards the road to Tours. Neither of them spoke, all of their energies being spent in obtaining their freedom from this place.

With nothing save moonlight overhead, Napoleon and his new partner, Etienne, drove along the tree lined road towards the Thrush chateau. He would prefer to not have to storm the place, but had no way of knowing how Illya had fared within it's walls. Just as he was beginning to see the lights of the old building, two figures came running towards the road, just within his peripheral vision. It was impossible to miss the white head in the light of a full moon. It was his friend and a girl, something unexpected from the solitary Russian.

"Stop, there's Illya!"


	3. Chapter 3

Etienne stepped on the brakes, causing the Mercedes to slide, barely missing the approaching couple as they emerged from the trees that lined the roadside. Napoleon was holding on with both hands, relieved when the car finally came to a stop with no evidence of damage to anyone.  
"Napoleon, they found me out" Illya was declaring the state of the mission as he leapt into the back seat, Genevieve close behind him.  
"How? What happened in there?" They had barely arrived, and already things were in disarray and lacking the expected and desired outcome.  
"I am not an exact duplicate, and I do not wish to give any other details about it". The blond was agitated, without a doubt, and his partner knew better than to require any other details, at present. They would discuss this later, alone.  
"What do you suggest then? Do we have any options to...save the mission?" Illya was panting from the exertion of running across the expansive parkland that was part of this chateau's property. The girl seemed equally spent from the exercise, and Napoleon waited for an introduction while the two gained their composure. Illya had his head resting against the seat back, his chest showing a return to normal breathing. He looked like a ghost, everything about his appearance was white and transluscent in the moonlight that washed through the car's windows.

"I don't know how to salvage this right now. They won't use the information in that packet, now that they know I'm not the original courier. We need to convince them that it is accurate and reliable. Otherwise, they'll just abandon all of it, and we will have lost the advantage of our false information". Illya's eyes sought out his partner, looking for a hint of brilliance or a plan already forming in the CEA's clever mind.  
"It would help if we had a reason to go back in there somehow..." Illya saw it, realized he needed to go back in; he needed to let himself be "captured" so that he would have an opportunity to convince them the contents of that courier's package was legitimate, and not a plant.  
"They will be sending out a team to look for me...for us. I suppose I could be conveniently at their mercy, perhaps at the hands of my friend here". He looked at the girl next to him, wondering if she would be willing to pose as a victim who had the great luck to overwhelm her kidnapper. The look she gave him was confused, not understanding what he proposed.

"Genevieve, would you be willing to go back...if it could be made to appear that I had forced you to leave with me? I think they would believe you...Deneauve would want to believe you. And that way I can get back in, without compromising you". He knew she was afraid, but hoped that her confidence in him would persuade her to do this.  
"Illya...how important is this?" To the point. He liked that about her.  
"It is very important, lives are at stake when dealing with these people...with Thrush". His eyes demanded her attention, and she studied them carefully, looking for her answer.  
"Yes, I will do it. But you must promise me...you must take me with you when you leave there. You will leave there, won't you? Alive..." She suddenly realized that he would be in real danger from Deneauve. Not just a slap across the face, as she might receive. The master of that chateau was a violent and dangerous man, and Illya was stepping back into his domain.  
"Genevieve, Illya knows how to do this. He'll be fine, and he will protect you...we will protect you". Napoleon's soothing voice was a comfort, and Etienne marveled at the effect it seemed to have on the other woman.

_These two are everything I've heard about them_...she was impressed even though she too had concerns about the Russian's plans to re-enter the Thrush lair.  
"Illya, I do have something in mind. I don't want to discuss it at length..." He nodded his head towards Genevieve. Illya understood that she needn't have all of their plans, less opportunity for her to give them away.  
"I will wait for you to save me, my friend. I have every confidence you will not wait too long. Now, in order for this to appear legitimate, we need a way for this lady to overcome me and deliver me back to Deneauve. I can think of only one way that would look legitimate, as much as I dislike it". The blue eyes zeroed in on his partner's face, knowing the look of displeasure would appear alongside an understanding of the most obvious solution. Illya withdrew his hidden pistol, the one concealed in a cigarette lighter. They had neglected to take that from him, possibly because it was hidden in the heal of his shoe.  
"I wish there were another way, Napoleon, but I don't see it. She can't overwhelm me physically, so there will need to be some kind of damage done to me...unless you wish to run me over with this car". Only the slightest curl of his lip conveyed his resignation to being either shot or hit by the Mercedes. Somehow, the pistol seemed less violent and more convincing.

After rehearsing the scene several times, the players were ready to begin their charade and send Illya and Genevieve back to Deneauve. The girl was nearly panicked at the plan, which only added to her believability. It would not be difficult for her to run back to the chauteau and beg for help, hoping that Illya was not bleeding to death on the path behind her.

Napoleon and Etienne would head back to Tours and contact the Paris office; the plan needed some various articles that could be produced only with the help of the UNCLE experts. Timing and accuracy would make this work, and save Kuryakin's life, which would now hang on the expectancy that the Thrush man within the chauteau could be convinced of the story Illya would tell him.

"Please, Napoleon. Do your best work here, as I have no desire to die on this road" Illya had no jest in his voice, even though the comment was meant to ease the strain of what his partner had to do now. Napoleon lined up his shot carefully, aiming for just the part of his friend's body that would look for all the world as if it had come from an inexperienced shooter. He needed to miss vital organs, but supply enough blood to substantiate the girl's hysteria. The brown eyes focused on his partner's left arm, aiming for muscle and not bone. It would hurt like hell, but he would still have the use of his other arm, and the blood loss would be easily stemmed. Illya stood rigid and resolute, anticipating the burn of lead passing through his flesh, not resisting the urge to succumb to it and pass out from the shock and pain. Genevieve saw it, disbelieving and horrified as the bullet struck, pushing the pale figure backwards and then to the ground as he reached for the affected limb, but unable to reach it before passing out.

Napoleon handed her the gun which she immediately threw to the ground, unable to wrap her fingers around the small implement of violence. She opened her mouth to speak, but Napoleon urged her to run and make her way to the chateau, assuring her that they would be back to make eveyrthing right. She took one last look at Illya, then, fearing that he might bleed to death, she took off at a run towards the lights in the windows, hoping that she could get there in time to beg for their help and carry out the storyline she had been given. The moonlight cast shadows on the road from the trees that lined her path back to the Thrush enclave. She stopped periodically to gain her breath, looking back to see if perhaps Illya had risen from the ground and was following her, motioning her back from this journey. But he remained prone, lifeless looking and smaller as she continued on. Her heart was pounding as she neared the front door.

Napoleon went over to his partner, checking to make certain the bullet had entered as he had planned; he turned back to the car with Etienne looking on, ashen and uncertain of the plan but confident in the man who sat down beside her.

"He'll be alright, won't he?" Her eyes searched the American's for an expression of whatever he was feeling. He looked up at her then, and she saw the concern and the regret. Still, he was resolute in what they must do now as he motioned for her to turn the car around and head back for Tours. They had work to do, and Illya's life depended on them doing it to perfection.

"Open channel D, emergency relay..."


	4. Chapter 4

Genevieve pounded on the door to the chateau, her breath coming in ragged gasps from the exertion of running and the emotional distress of the situation. It was Deneauve himself who opened the door, surprise written on his handsome features as he took in the sight of the girl.

"Genevieve, what has happened to you? Where is that man?" His words escaped before he could summon the composure he normally held for employees. It had been a grievous thing to him for the girl to leave, especially with that imposter. Looking at her now, his hopes returned that she had been forced into it.  
"Monsieur Deneauve, I shot him. He's at the end of the drive, and I don't know if I killed him or not. I was so scared". And with that, she fell into his arms, weeping and whimpering about how he had forced her to accompany him, to lead him through the tunnels. Her tears were real, although the story was the account she had been instructed to relate to Thrush.

"Please, I do not wish to be responsible for any man's death. He kept saying he was not an enemy, but his fear drove him to escape from here. I was confused..." Then she cried some more, hoping to convey the scenario intact to this man who would hold Illya's life in his hands.  
"Genevieve...sshhh my sweet, you have not killed him, I am certain. We will retrieve him and tend to his wounds. I am only relieved that you have returned and are safe now...with me". He took her in his arms and escorted her farther into the house, near the fireplace that embraced a spirited flame, full of warmth. He settled her into a down filled cushion, the chair nearly enveloping her as she sank into it, exhausted by the physical and emotional strain of the past few hours.

Deneauve ordered some men to go search for the wounded man and bring him back; sent for another to go and fetch a doctor who lived close by and often tended to the occasional wounded Thrush. There were many friends in the area who would quickly beckon to the summons they received from this man, his influence more profound than UNCLE would have liked to believe. As the two sat, mostly silent in front of the comforting fire, the Thrush man and the masseuse, each contemplated their next move. He would need to interrogate the albino, if indeed he was actually that. Knowing he was not the courier who had been dispatched to him made him doubt the entire appearance of the man. Still, what an astounding thing to create that look so completely and convincingly. He would, of course, explain it all with the proper motivation.

Genevieve kept practicing over and over in her mind the scenario she must help create; the story that would be the foundation for this deception. She began to recite it for Deneauve now, as they sat together in the comfort of the living room with the light of the fire falling seductively over her features, drawing him into her recitation of the tale.

"He did force me to go with him, and I was so scared. I dared not refuse. He was also afraid, I think. But, not because of guilt, only that you would not believe his story". She looked at him pleadingly, hoping that her sincerety would draw him into this account; Illya's life might depend on it.  
"And what is his story? How is it different from my suspicion that he is an UNCLE agent?" The man's eyes were cutting, not willing to accept an account that would differ from his earlier accusation.  
"He says they are twins...he and his brother. They have played this game since their youth, switching their identities back and forth until they accomplish whatever it is that they are doing. In this case, to deliver this information to you, monsieur. But, his brother was captured, and it was left to him to finish the job. The discrepency in their...um...la circoncision...it was done by their agreement, for security. One marked, the other not, just in case they needed to verify their stories, such as now. His brother was the one marked by the operation.  
Deneault considered this, wondering at the probability and deciding, reluctantly, that it might be true. How else to explain a second Russian man with albinist characteristics, and in possession of their documents?

At that moment, the door opened and the two Thrush who had gone to retrieve Illya came through the door, half carrying, half dragging the man. His arm was soaked in blood and Genevieve thought he looked much worse than she had been led to believe he should.  
"Mon Dieu, he looks so bad. What have I done?" She wailed at the sight of him, not needing to act the part of a remorseful near assassin. She didn't reach out for him, however, and maintained the distance required to continue the reticence of one not fully convinced of his innocence.  
"Take him upstairs to his room. The doctor is on his way. Was there anything else there, any sign of weapons?" One of the men produced the little lighter pistol, and replied that it was the only thing there where he had been found. Deneauve took it and turned it over in his hand, admiring the size and ingenuity of the little pistol. He had not seen anything quite like it before, and determined to return it to their guest, should his story prove to be true.

Illya woke up on the bed in the room he had occupied only a few hours earlier. Although he had passed out after Napoleon shot him, he had been conscious for quite a while, including the trip back up to the chateau. He wanted the time to sort out the plan before facing the Thrush chief downstairs. Better that they should come to him, rather than being subjected to an inquisition immediately upon returning. Hopefully, Genevieve had begun the process and told her part of the story. It would prepare the way for his performance as the frere circoncis in this little play. What a ridiculous detail over which to possibly fail at a mission. He still had a score to settle with someone in section four.  
He could hear approaching footsteps, and then voices. The door opened and a little man with a black bag entered, flanked by the two men who had retrieved him from the road. Behind them, sauntering in as the lord and master would be wont to do, came Deneauve, a look of grim determination on his face as he prepared for the task of interrogating his "guest" while he had the advantage. A doctor present did not guarantee a lack of pain, only the ability to manipulate it.

The two lackeys left the room, closing the door behind their exit. Illya was watching the approach of the physician and the Thrush chief warily, and winced when his affected arm was moved. "We must remove the shirt, so you will sit up for this", The doctor was deft in his treatment of the patient, but the pain of it was not lessened by that. Napoleon had got him right through the muscle, and it wasn't a through and through shot; the bullet would need to come out, and a sense of dread accompanied that knowledge. Deneauve was watching, not yet saying anything. He would allow the doctor's examination first, although he was enjoying his own as the shirt came off revealing the taut chest and arms, the white hair and fine musculature of the young man. He was fond of the girl downstairs, her ellusiveness a type of aphrodesiac to which he had accustomed himself to never having fulfilled. He could be equally enthralled by someone like this, however. The young man was beautiful, almost ethereal in his appearance with his light skin and blue eyes, the tantilizing whiteness that had the effect of a shimmering light continually shining. _Imagine two such as these_; it was incomprehensible to him.

"Monsieur Deneauve, the wound is not so bad, but I must remove the bullet. I can administer a pain killer...or a sedative...?" The physician was unsure, and past incidents had proved this man capable of subjecting others to discomfort in situations such as this. He didn't know for a certainty that the wounded man would receive the benefit of anything to dull the pain of this operation.  
"What is your name? You are obviously not the man who started this mission". The Thrush chief looked imperious as he stared down at the Russian. Whether or not he was a twin, there was an explanation required for this ruse, for his impersonation of the brother he claimed to have replaced.  
"Sergei Andreivitch Vlachko. Mikhail is my brother'...he squirmed under the doctor's hand as his arms was examined, his breath caught short by a stab of pain...  
"He was captured by UNCLE, but I already had the package. We always intended to pass it off this way. His contact doesn't know about me...no one ever does. It was stupid of Mikhail to let someone see him...to undress him..."  
Illya blushed with the supposed embarrassment of one who had been the victim of a personal violation. It was not entirely feigned, as he hated having to be placed in the position of displaying himself here, and Thrush had a propensity for stripping their prisoners and humiliating them...he shuddered slightly.

"I am inclined to believe you, although your escape had made you look guilty...of something. Perhaps you wish to share that with me, comrade". The smirk was purposeful and wicked. Illya thought that this man was probably very perverse; it was the best way to climb the ranks in Thrush, if past experience were any indication.  
"I was afraid. I overheard the conversation and knew you had...ascertained that there was a difference. I don't know you monsieur, and I panicked. I am sorry now, for as you can see it has hurt me worse than you". The blond smirked in return with that last comment. As if on cue, the doctor plunged a needle into his arm, administering a local anesthesia, as per Deneauve's silent instruction.

"Ah, the operation is about to begin, I see. I have consented to spare you the additional pain of this, although I see no need to sedate you. From your appearance it appears that you have endured much worse". The scars that were evident spoke to more than a single gunshot wound. He could feel himself strangely affected by the sight of this slight, pale body. Taut and lean, he wondered...  
"For now, monsieur, I will accept your story, as I have no other explanation for such a splendid duplicate of the man who was sent to me, but is now absent. Am I to believe, then, that the package you delivered to me is authentic, and did not pass through any other hands save yours and your brother's?"  
Illya had this moment to convince him, and to save the mission from complete failure.  
"Yes, Monsieur Deneauve, it is the original. Mikhail passed it to me in New York, just an hour before he was captured. I know he has not talked to UNCLE, he wouldn't. He is like me, and would never betray the hand that feeds him". The blue eyes were irresistible, and in an instant the older man knew this was true. Even though this strange young man looked fragile to the eye, he understood from this tone of his voice and posturing of his body, regardless of the surgery now taking place, that he would not bend to torture or temptation. He would accept this story, perhaps more from a desire to engage him in a more friendly environment than any sense of duty. All things being more or less equal, he deigned to imagine that the young man felt the same.

"Doctor, do you see any difficult in repairing his arm?" The change was sudden, signaling an end to the interrogation. Illya sighed a brief indication of some relief, acknowledging the awareness of the doctor cutting through muscle to reach the bullet. It wasn't pain exactly, but he was aware of the movement, the invasion of steel implements grinding into muscle and flesh. He felt drained, the blood loss and the adrenalin of the encounter with Deneauve taking it's toll now, lulling him into blackness. The Frenchman watched as the blue eyes cut across the room, searching for something and then fading into a far corner, unfocused. The heavy lids closed; silence took over, and darkness. He would sleep now.

Napoleon Solo and his French partner, Etienne Chevalier, returned to Tours and the hotel where he was registered, at around two o'clock in the morning. The night had been eventful, and leaving Illya lying in the drive to the Thrush chateau a challenging move for the UNCLE agent. He hated what he had done, shooting his own partner. But, Illya was determined, and his expert aim had guaranteed that it was not a dangerous wound. Still, there were many uncertainties to be overcome, not the least of which was getting back to that house and creating a diversion that would allow them to take Illya and Genevieve from there.  
He had been on his communicator with New York and Paris, arranging for details that would cover him as a Thrush official. Deneauve was well connected, but there were always secrets in Thrush, that was a known reality. UNCLE agents had often been able to infiltrate based on the secrecy of Thrush's hierarchy. He was counting on that now as a means of rescuing his partner and the girl from this satrap. If all was going according to plan, Illya was believable as a twin to the courier at HQ, and the secreted documents were to be accepted as bonefide Thrush. The trick would be to succeed at his plan and retain the confidence in the documents. It would be a close call, but they had no other choice. It was doubtful that the Russian would be released so easily, and with the right trail of paperwork and bluff, Napoleon felt confident that it would be days before they were discovered to have been a deception. By that time, considering the urgency required by some of the false documents, Thrush would be putting the bogus plans into operation before they could cry "UNCLE".

"Napoleon, how soon are we to go back there? You have designed such a scheme, it makes me wonder how Thrush survives with such disconnected intelligence". Etienne was marveling at the American agent's wiley plan, and at his brash confidence that he could consider just walking into that Thrush enclave and presenting himself as Deneauve's superior. It would be a small miracle if he succeeded, she thought.  
"Ah, my lovely Etienne...Thrush is so paranoid that they withhold information from one section to another, disallowing knowledge, practicing deception at every level. It is not too difficult, with the proper identification and whiffs of superiority, to cause almost any of their people to cower at the prospect of a higher authority than their own. Monsier Deneauve will not be an exception, as I have uncovered a few facts about him and his methods. He will not be too surprised, I don't think, to have a visitor from Central; and he won't dare to question it. It just isn't done". He smiled at her, delighted with her company and encouraged by her quick mind and willingness to travel into this unknown territory. She would remain outside the chateau, coordinating with the additional agents who were being sent in as back up to this operation. It must be quick and efficient. The ruse would work for a time, but they dared not remain too long; that was usually the downfall of any mission that affected an impersonation.

"Alright, Napoleon, I trust you. I don't suppose you have garnered the reputation that you have by making mistakes. You and Illya, even in France, have quite the legacy to defend". She winked at him, knowing he understood that the two of them were garnering a reputation among the other agents within UNCLE. Their success rate was beyond the norm, and the often flamboyant, stringently thorough way in which they won their victories were the stuff of endless conversation and comparison. The men travailed between admiration and jealousy, and the women dreamed of romantic encounters with either of them. What a burden, she thought, to be held up to such high standards.

As they gathered together all of the details of their plan, the dark haired agent contemplated once more his entry into the chateau, his supposed Thrush affiliation and the manner in which he would be escorting his partner and Genevieve from there. It had to go quickly, and all of it depended on whether or not Illya's story had been accepted. If yes, then they would probably not have a bad time of it. On the other hand, if Deneauve were reluctant to believe the story of twins and the dependability of the procured documents...well, it could be dicey.

Napoleon decided to believe the best, plan for the worst and play it to the hilt.


	5. Chapter 5

Daylight was streaming through a gap in the ceiling to floor draperies that hung over the windows. It was that slip of light that landed on Illya's eyes, creating a silent alarm in the Russian as he sorted through images and recollections of the previous day and evening, grasping at the last memory. Ah, the bullet and Deneauve...  
He opened his eyes into mere slits, unwilling still to alert anyone who might be watching. He realized that he was naked beneath the sheet, and it was only covering him partially; one leg was bare, bent at the knee as though ready to propel him into the next dream. And he had dreamt of something...a girl...

_Ethan Deneauve sat in a bergere chair upholstered in beige damask, dressed in trousers and a silk shirt of nearly the same color. The room was a pale celedon accented with white trim and the same damask as the chair's covering. Deneauve was himself a dark man, his hair and eyes as well as his complexion. He was fascinated by the young man in the bed, enthralled now with the sight of him. The bare body was slender and taut beneath a sheet covering only one leg and his groin, or most of it. The merest glimpse of white hair peeked at him, the hint of pale, pinkish genitals causing the Frenchman to consider reaching out to touch the painterly vision. He resisted the urge, remaining in his continuing state of celibate ardor; his desire for both women and men never realized in a self-imposed prison of devotion to some illusory higher calling. That was his perversion: the denial of self in a delusion of greater purpose. The man in the bed stirred, slitting his eyes to take in the room, deciding whether or not danger was imminent. He would find no danger, only the observant and veiled hunger of a man whose only indulgence was a moment such as this._

"Sergei, bon retour la vie...you are back among the living, I see". The eyes remained untouched as a smile creased the face of the Thrush host. It was not completely lascivious, but Illya remained guarded, nonetheless.  
"Oui. Combien de temps ai-je dormi?" It seemed to the Russian that he had been sleeping for days. Then, becoming more alert, he was aware of the view he was providing. He drew his leg back under the sheet that he then raised up nearly to his armpits. How long had this man been watching him, he wondered.  
"You, my friend, slept all night after your misfortune...the bullet' He paused to affect a look of concern, then continued... "Are you ready for something to eat? By my calculations, you have not had any food or drink for nearly 24 hours. That is much too long, and you will not heal well without sustenance, mon cher". _Familiar bastard_. Illya felt as though he had missed something, but he was hungry...famished actually. He hadn't eaten anything since the plane early yesterday...New York time.

"Yes, oui monsieur, I am very hungry. Perhaps there is a robe for me to wear..." The not too subtle request to cover his naked body was met with a smile.  
"By all means, in the closet you will find that and more. Your clothing was ruined, but what has been provided for you will more than suffice, I believe. Take your pick. I will see you downstairs, then..." And with that he rose from the chair and gracefully moved to the door, turning to look back once at the white figure in the bed. He tipped his chin to Illya before exiting, the closing door drawing a sigh of relief from the UNCLE agent.

When Deneauve touched his foot to the stone floor in the entry, there was at that moment the ring of the bell at the front door. He hesitated as the thought occured to him that a servant would answer, then decided to open the door himself. To his surprise, a dark haired man, handsome and well dressed, stood in the open doorway. The visitor turned large brown eyes to stare with a mixture of amusement and self-possession at the Thrush; the effect both startling and pleasing. _This morning held a myriad of delights, and now this_.

"May I help you, monsieur?" Deneauve was at a disadvantage, his usual command slightly altered by the young man upstairs and now this debonaire gentleman at his door. Napoleon took his advantage and stated his purpose.  
"You are Ethan Deneauve, I presume. My name is Willem Vanmeter. I am here from Central...to see you".  
Shock and panic struck simultaneously as the Frenchman tried to recall the name, any recollection at all concerning this man. He wasn't a lackey or someone's grunt. This man exuded authority; perhaps more authority than his own, and he had no idea why he would be here, unless...  
"Welcome to my home, then Monsieur Vanmeter. To what...to what do I owe this privilege, that you should come directly to me?" He tried to make it sound gracious, but internally there was a turmoil that was threatening to bubble over and spoil the facade of superiority with which he usually did business.

Napoleon Solo entered the foyer of the chateau with an ease and an elegance befitting his name. In this charade, he was a Thrush official whose rank would shatter the confidence of the man before him. Codes had been broken and false information placed within easy reach of Deneauve. When he made his phone call, a relay would connect him to Etienne who would in turn feed the necessary false information to underpin the UNCLE deception, thereby establishing rank and privilege, all of it in Napoleon's favor.  
"Monsier, again I would ask for an explanation. It is not often that someone from Thrush Central deigns to visit us here, not in this location. Is it, perhaps, due to the courier we have here, and the documents that he carried?" Deneauve had no doubt this was indeed the catalyst for such action. He would call and confirm as soon as he was able, but in the meantime could take no chances that this man was not on a mission from the Hierarchy.

"Ah, Monsieur Deneauve, we are merely avoiding any possible mishaps with this situation. Your contact in America gave you erroneous information regarding Sergei...' Napoleon let a knowing smile invade his features, a calculated hint that there were secrets to be learned.  
"He and his brother, their arrangement, are known to us, even though their secret is not generally revealed to the individual operatives with whom they do business. I am sure you understand, now that you have met him". The brown eyes were seductive to the unwitting Thrush, his sense of inclusiveness to this intrigue growing with appreciation for it's genius.  
"Indeed. He is...beguiling, to say the least". At last, some validation for his own aesthetics; he was not alone in his estimation of the beautiful albino. He wondered what else Central had hidden from him, how deeply enigmatic the people above him might prove to be.  
Napoleon, beneath the veneer of calm superiority, had a badgering curiosity concerning this man's fascination with his partner. It had not been his intent to steer the approach in this direction, if he were correctly discerning Deneauve's implications of interest. However, it seemed to portend a predilection towards the Russian, and that would be useful. Hopefully he wouldn't insist on keeping him here.

As the two men were discussing him, the individual in question emerged from his bedroom. The clothing he had discovered in the closet were expensive and, amazingly, a perfect fit. Fit was the primary descriptive to be used, because the jeans were so snug as to make sitting down marginally hazardous to his very important parts; the tee shirt was silk and clung so tightly to his torso that, due to the cool air that hung along the old walls and stone floors, his nipples protruded in an immodest manner, very unlike the reserved Russian. It was what there was to wear, however, and none of the other garments had a different effect. He chose the black, which was typical, and would at least minimize the disclosure of his most private attributes.  
He was not sure about the host. He had appeared to genuinely like and admire Genevieve, so the episode upon awakening was confusing. Perhaps his preferences were broad minded, so to speak. In any event, Napoleon should be here soon, and their plan for departure well on it's way. He did require food first, though. He wasn't going anywhere on an empty stomach, and his was entirely empty by this hour of the day. He wondered where Genevieve was, whether or not he would find her at table. He hoped so, and wished to know that she was safe and unharmed. Deneauve may have appeared docile this morning, but he knew the man was capable of cruelties and harshness; he hoped the girl had not been subjected to either.

Deneauve and Napoleon were still conversing in the foyer, not having quite arrived at the main room, when Illya descended the stairs. The Frenchman's eyes were immediately diverted to the albino man, letting the words of a sentence trail off as his eyes fastened on his guest. Clad in black, the white hair catching a glint of light through a palladian window over the stairwell, even Napoleon caught his breath for a moment before realizing it was indeed his friend. No one could pull of a disguise better than Illya, he thought. Only, this wasn't entirely a disguise.

"You look recovered, Sergei. How is the arm?" Deneauve was anxious to escort the young Russian to the dining room; he knew he needed to eat, had gone far too long without food.  
"I feel much rested, thank you. Hello Willem. Have you come to straighten this out?" The familiar greeting shocked Deneauve as he realized that these two men were acquainted. He was on the outside of something that might prove a danger to him and his career. How had he been so stupid as to doubt Sergei? He had nothing to do now save apologies and excuses for his miscalculation. He needed to make that phone call...

"Gentlemen, since you seem to be acquainted, perhaps you will entertain yourselves...please, go into the dining room and enjoy the offerings. I have a phone call that is a necessary nuisance. I am certain you understand..." Illya and Napoleon nodded their heads, knowing the purpose of the phone call and confident that Etienne would handle it flawlessly. They indicated that their host should go, as they headed for the dining room and Illya's much awaited meal.


	6. Chapter 6

The two UNCLE agents walked into the dining room without exchanging a word. The silence spoke eloquently, however, of their concern for Etienne and the ensuing phone call from Deneauve. Each of them felt confident of her skills for the task, however there was always the chance of some little bit of detail slipping past, or a hesitency in answering a question. She would need to maintain the same calm Napoleon had witnessed during this entire episode, while Illya had no experience with her outside of the planning for this charade they were now performing.

The Russian had, for his part, the compensation of a good meal at least. The buffet was laden with fruit and cheese, crusty bread and croissants. In addition to several of these, Beef Carpaccio and a roquefort flan went on his plate alongside an endive salad with walnuts and more roquefort cheese. Napoleon glanced at his partner's plate, then at his own meager selection of salad and Quiche Lorraine. Unlike Illya, the American did not have a metabolism that operated like high octane fuel. While a lean and fit individual, he knew he could grow to be a very comfortable cushion for his lovers if he ever stopped being vigilent concerning calories and exercise.  
Napoleon was mesmerized as he watched Illya eat. To say that the Russian consumed his food with relish was an understatement, and in fact, not nearly prosaic enough as a description. He actually enjoyed watching his partner eat a meal, and thought that he had never seen anyone make food look as enticing in the process. There was an abandon in the act of devouring the meal, a look of such enjoyment that it became an almost seductive ploy to engage onlookers to dive in to the same type of pleasure.

While in the midst of this peculiar scrutiny, Deneauve entered the room and took a seat across from the agents. His face had acquired a serenity obtained after years of careful detachment and practiced control. "Monsieurs, I see you have found the buffet, and to your satisfaction, I hope". The smile did not reach his eyes as he surveyed the two men, their stark differences adding more contrast to his own appearance. His confidence in light of the information he had obtained was once again secure; he had control again, and his world was no longer veering from it's previous orbit.

"Sergei, the package you delivered to me is in my safe. It appears that all of my fears have been for naught, and you are indeed half of a most extraordinary...Comment trouvez-vous? paire...a pair". He feigned a small laugh, his eyes never leaving the albino. The conversation with the woman at Central had cleared everything in his mind; this visit could be turned to his benefit, if he could keep these two content. However, he had been told to not turn over the package that Sergei had delivered to him. The question remained, was Vanmeter aware of this decision?  
"Monsieur Vanmeter, are you to deliver our Russian friend back to Central then? Or, should he remain here with me, for safe keeping?" Illya nearly blanched at the question, his chewing only slowing momentarily as he cut his eyes to Napoleon, who had also taken note of the leering suggestion.  
"Ethan...may I call you Ethan? Sergei and I must now try and recover his brother from UNCLE. It will not be safe for him, or us, if he remains there much longer. I know you will understand if we don't reveal our plans to you as they evolve...the fewer who know..." He dipped head in the motion of one who considers the other person to grasp the unspoken message.  
"Ahh...quite. I will have one of my men go on with the package then, so that you and Sergei can attend to your...plans". He surveyed both men, making sure to not break eye contact with them, maintaining a facade, at least, of calm assurance.

In their host's absence, the two agents had carried on a trivial conversation, being always wary of listening or viewing devices that might be hidden. They did manage to drop a few ideas for which they knew Thrush would have an appetite; a suggestion about things that would eventually benefit UNCLE and the world at large. When the Thrush chief returned to the dining room and his guests, the Russian was completely satisfied with his meal and their plan, while the American felt nourished, if not fully sated.

"Monsieur Deneauve', Illya addressed the man without Napoleon's famliarity. He felt better with the distance of a more formal tone...  
"What of Genevieve? I have not seen her as yet today" He was worried about her. He imagined that she would have wanted to see him as well.  
"Our beautiful Genevieve has gone back to Paris Sergei. She does have work there, you know. I regret that I do not have her exclusively here...with me". The eyes again suggested something more than his words conveyed. The man maintained a mystery, but his substance was beginning to be more transparent the longer the agent observed him.

"Is it possible that you will share some information with me? I would very much like to see her again". That was bold, but he was concerned. If Deneauve were lying, and she remained here, he would call his bluff on it.  
Napoleon would make sure Etienne checked out whatever the man told them. If Genevieve were back in Paris, they would find out before they left here. Like his friend, he wanted to make certain that the girl was safe.  
"Yes, of course Sergei. Our little masseuse made quite an impression on you then. She has that effect on us all, it seems". The smile was dangerous and still subtle in it's expression. The sooner they were away from here, the better.

Genevieve was not back in Paris. Instead, she had awakened from her bed only to be taken with a little less than a rough hand, into the hidden passageway she had shown Illya only yesterday. It seemed as though so much more time had passed, and now she found herself in the dark, her hands and feet bound. She couldn't understand at first why Deneauve would do this to her, and then the frightening prospect of being hidden from her new friends and being kept here...indefinitely, began to invade her thoughts. How would they find her if he were truly determined that they should not? Fear and dread began to overtake her, her cries for help seemingly unheard as she yielded to the frightening vision of a life bound to the monster she had only recently called her employer.

The plan had called for the two UNCLE agents to claim knowledge of one another, and for Etienne to field the phone call that they knew Deneauve would make to Thrush Central for verification of Vanmeter's story. So far, this was on track. They wanted the Thrush chief to keep the documents and forward them on to Central, as that was the whole point of this operation. What they hadn't counted on was the peculiarities of the man's appetites, and now the mystery of their missing friend. Napoleon had taken Illya on a walk; the guise of a debriefing seemed to satisfy their host as he made the explanation for privacy. He placed his communicator in his breast pocket in order to hide the fact that he was, in fact, contacting Etienne. He relayed the information of Genevieve's supposed location, although neither he nor Illya believed that Deneauve would have sent her away. His demeanor had betrayed the falsehood; the man wanted her, as much as he seemed to be drawn to Illya's alter ego Sergei. Within the hour Etienne confirmed their suspicions: the girl was not where the Thrush had directed them, and in fact had not been seen for days. It had been a quick answer as one of the Paris agents did the legwork to try and find their lovely, missing friend.

"Where does that place us now, Illya? I know you don't want to leave here without Genevieve, nor do I. Do you have any idea where he might have hidden her?" Both men were concerned and felt responsible for her involvement. Once again they had enlisted an innocent bystander in their escapades; only now this innocent was in danger and in the clutches of a man who was known to be cruel and possessive.

"I could offer myself in exchange for her freedom". Napoleon had expected this, had known his partner would cave in to his feelings of guilt and...what else? Affection...  
"I don't think that's really an answer, do you Illya? I mean, he might just agree to it and then keep you both. No, we need to find her before this is finished, and make our exit while he's still convinced that the documents are legitimate. He can't know that we suspect or would interfere with his agenda for the girl". Illya knew what his friend said was true and right and full of just the kind of logic that would normally come from him. It didn't help, though.

When they returned to the chateau and the welcoming greeting of their host, the plan was in motion. Illya suspected that the passageway he had taken with Genevieve would be the best hiding place. It probably seemed to audacious an act to the Thrush that his guests would violate their mutual interests and try to take the girl from him. He, of course, did not know with whom he was dealing. Perhaps Sergei and Willem might have let this pass, but Illya and Napoleon had no intention of leaving her there. Deneauve would do as they wished; his future with Thrush would be an unhappy one when this was completed.


	7. Chapter 7

Deneauve noted the expression on Sergei's face as over exertion; a strain around the eyes betraying that the young man had gone too long without resting. He must take care, considering only last night a bullet had been removed from his arm.  
Much as the two UNCLE agents had planned, Illya made his apologies and returned to the bedroom that was continuing to be held for his use. Napoleon would keep the Thrush occupied while he searched for Genevieve, each making good use of the time they were alloted before the day's end. A courier had been dispatched with the documents, so that much was accomplished. If they could manage to continue the charade, Illya in character as Sergei and Napoleon as the representative from Thrush Central, there was reason to hope that the damage would be accomplished within the next 24 hours. Whether or not they could remain here was questionable, however. Finding the girl and getting her to safety was imperative, and doing that might be the end of their successful mission.

As Illya detoured to Genevieve's room to examine any clues to what had happened, he determined that she might need a change of clothes. From all appearances she had been dragged from her bed, and was most likely still in her nightclothes. After gathering a few things, he went to his room to check the several security checks he had made up, just in case someone had been snooping in there. The matchbook on the doorframe fell on schedule, and the thread he had placed on the pillow was in it's spot as well. Having no possessions in the room made it easier. He merely prefered to not be poisoned with a dart on his bed or met by an assasin when he entered.

"Monsieur Deneauve, perhaps we two can sit and discuss the plans you have for expansion here in France. You know Victor Marton, of course..." Napoleon guided the unwitting Frenchman into the living room where he embarked on a rather lengthy discourse in which he recounted meetings with the senior French official, including some of their own real encounters. It was a perfect distraction that would allow Illya to go in search of Genevieve, starting with the passageway in which he had escaped only yesterday. It seemed so much longer, but the memory of it was still fresh as he approached the large portrait at the end of the hallway. Looking for guards or other unwelcome occupants, the stealthy agent carefully pulled back the oversized canvas, revealing the door into the passageway beyond. He pulled out his penlight, aiming it for the floor initially, careful to gauge his steps in the darkness that now enveloped him. Within a few minutes, his light fastened onto a figure; it was Genevieve, her hands and feet were bound, and her head leaned back against the stone wall. She didn't hear him approach, a recent dose of sedative having been administered to halt the screaming she had engaged in for the first several hours of her confinement.

"Genevieve...wake up. It's Illya...wake up". He didn't raise his voice, but it was insistent as he tried to coax her into consciousness. She groggily raised her eyelids, not recognizing him in the dark at first. He turned the penlight back onto his own face, causing her to start with the sight of the white creature before her. Slowly she regained her memories of the man, and burst into tears in relief and weariness from this latest ordeal.  
"Sshhh...it's going to be alright. I'm rescuing you...can't you tell?" He smiled at her, hoping the attempt at lightheartedness would ease her mind, along with the safety he promised.  
"Oh, Illya, I didn't know what had happened to you...or what might happen to me. Deneauve has plans to imprison me here, I'm certain of it". He wiped her eyes with his fingers, unfastening the ropes that were binding her and then raising her up to meet his height. "Can you walk?" She nodded, leaning into him as they proceeded back into the tunnel.  
"I want to take you to the little rooms we found...do you remember?" He still had hopes of them being undiscovered, since the Thrush had not yet mentioned them. It was the safest place for her until he and Napoleon could make their own retreat from the chateau. "And it is safe, you think? For how long must I remain there?" She trusted this man, but apprehension overwhelmed her now, being returned to Deneauve a nightmarish thought.  
"It won't be long. Napoleon and I are hoping to leave this evening, and we have told Deneauve that we are flying back to New York. We won't leave you here...I promise". Her eyes sought out his in the darkness, her hopes she knew would remain unfulfilled for that romantic encounter they had fleetingly considered. "You will leave immediately, then...and we..." He stopped her, achingly aware that in reality, he had nothing to offer this woman. He would go back to New York and never see her again, in spite of whatever attraction they held for one another.  
"Genevieve, I'm sorry. This is my life. I can promise to take you from here, but nothing else". His own regret was evident to her as she held his gaze, acknowledging that she understood with one tender touch of her lips to his. This would be all they could share, all she could hope for.  
They continued, turning right again into the smaller and more forebodding looking passageway. Illya noted that there will still indications of it having remained untouched. He had no doubts that the Thrush guards would have scattered the cobwebs and obstructions through which he and his companion now passed. Confident that she would be safe for a few hours in the secret rooms, he guided the way until they reached the old door through which they had passed the day before.

Once inside the two made a cursory examination of the first room, then continued on into the front. Several old quilts were stacked on a small table, as well as some candles and matches. Illya had taken note of these items during his first visit, his agent's instincts always observent of his surroundings. Genevieve moved to examine the quilts more closely, taking one and shaking the dust free of it as she laid it carefully on the floor. Then the next one, until she had stacked four quilts on the floor as Illya watched her, anticipating what she intended with both pleasure and apprehension. This could lead to nothing...he could offer her nothing more than this moment.

Napoleon and Deneauve were deep in conversation for several hours, the depth of Willem Vanmeter adding so much information to the cagey Thrush chief. He listened and took mental notes of all that was said, filing away every important escapade, every name and event that might help him gain admission to the higher eschelons of the Hierarchy. This visit had been a boon to his career, and the willingness of his guest to share such clever tactics...his ascension would be much quicker than even he had imagined.  
While the American spun his tales, he watched the other man as he soaked up every bit of his lies and manipulations. Not only would Ethan Deneauve not gain his much desired promotions, but would be blamed for inflicting a wound of such depth that several sectors of Thrush would be reeling from the damage for months to come. UNCLE had planted the seeds of several devious deceptions; targets that were non-existent and investments that would lure the criminal organization into bankrupting several known satraps. If all went according to the plans concocted by section one, Thrush would begin to invest in businesses that were fronts for UNCLE holdings, pushing money into the Command's coffers while Thrush anticipated returns for their own money. Before the enemy could discover the mistakes they had made, finances would have been successfully transfered to the more righteous causes of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. It would be a stunning coup for law and order, while signaling the downfall of several prominent members of Thrush.

The day spun it's way toward evening, and the two men in the chateau began to feel the need for supper. Napoleon offered to go and see about the Russian, making his way upstairs with the hope that the girl had been found safe. He knocked on the door lightly, then with more force when it remained unanswered. Just as he was withdrawing a pick for the purpose of entering without permission, the door opened and revealed a rumpled but more rested looking Illya.  
"Did you find her?" Napoloen practically hissed as he began to question his partner. Something about the blond reeked of an intimate encounter. Also his demeanor was guarded, moreso than it should have been in greeting his friend.  
"I did, and she is fine. I have left her in the little undiscovered room at the end of the second passageway. I left her my communicator as well. I didn't want her to feel abandoned...out of touch". The dark haired man eyed his friend with a practiced awareness of the subtleties of romantic encounters, and of the afterglow they retained. There was a pervasive air of it on his friend's countenance. He knew without asking that Illya and Genevieve had...consumated their relationship. And in a most evocative manner, it seemed. Certainly this was the stuff of romance novels, and of all people...  
Illya sensed his friend's perusal and speculation. He knew he needn't embellish. "So, have you and Deneauve become best friends by now?" Illya couldn't help a sense of relief that perhaps the Frenchman had another target for his attentions, if not his fantasies.  
"Yes, he's been taking notes on everything. I believe we should make our exit this evening. He's pretty much expecting it". Napoleon had set the stage. He would like to have heard that Central was putting the plans into motion, but he could live with the prospect of it just as easily. They needed to get clear of this place before anything had opportunity to go wrong.  
"Alright, let me come down with you. We can make our apologies and be on our way, with any luck. I made a few signs to indicate that she had gone down the other passageway towards the little cottage by the road; I threw the rope down that way, and left a scrap of fabric from her nightgown. Hopefully he will accept that and go looking in that direction. "It sounds like a good plan, and right now he's so intoxicated by his rise to the top I don't think the girl will be on his list of most important considerations. Everything else is a plaything to this man...like you".  
The smug look on Napoleon's face was almost more than his Russian partner could endure, but he let it go. It was true, and it was almost over. He just wanted to get back into some of his own clothes and see his true self in a mirror. He was suddenly very weary from this transformation he'd gone through, and longed for a chilled glass of vodka and his record player for company.

"Illya, are you alright?" Concern broke throught the parody, and Napoleon tried to see into the depths of his friend's soul as he fixed his brown eyes on the blue ones he faced.  
"No, Napoleon. I'm tired, my arm is aching and...and that's all. We're almost done here, and I can't get on that plane for New York any too soon".  
"Okay...we're almost there, tovarisch...almost there".


	8. Chapter 8

Neither of the UNCLE men had bags to pack, although Illya was wishing he'd had a change of clothes. Something about remaining in the ones supplied by Deneauve made him uncomfortable in more ways than just the tight fit. There was nothing to be done about that, however. He and Napoleon made their way downstairs, willing to stay and cultivate the trust of the Thrush chief who was so pliable in their hands as the plan gained momentum, and the documents neared their destination. For Illya's part, as long as Genevieve was safely tucked away in the secret room he felt confident that everything would move along without a hitch. His partner felt the same, and so they appeared together in the doorway to the living room as Deneauve turned to greet them with his ever present, insincere smile.  
"Ah, gentlemen, come and join me. Sergei, you have rested, yes?' He let his eyes brush over the young Russian, still hopeful of retaining him here a little longer.  
"Supper is being prepared for us and will be ready very shortly. I am so pleased that you will be joining me". With that a servant appeared, indicating that the meal was indeed only awaiting their presence in the dining room.  
As they made their way towards what would prove to be an excellent offering from the host's kitchen, each man considered plans that would be underway before the end of the night. Napoleon had his exit lines well rehearsed, as did Illya. They would leave together with the announcement of traveling early the next morning, necessitating a trip back to Paris immediately after supper.  
For his part, Ethan Deneauve was anxiously waiting for a phone call confirming the delivery of the documents his man had couriered to Thrush Central. A jet had been waiting for the man in Paris, and with a flight time of only about three hours, his speculation of the grand results would be fulfilled shortly. The day had been profitable for him, and the additional satisfaction of knowing Genevieve was now under his power only heightened the man's sense of invulnerability. As the men were finishing their rustic French fare, albeit prepared with a technique befitting the finest French chefs, Deneave ordered a meal to be taken to the girl. He had neglected to check on her earlier, his infatuation with Willem had been so complete. Certainly he was in the good graces of a very important man, and something like a female fetish could wait a little longer.  
Now, though, he knew she would need attention. Illya caught the instruction as it was whispered in German to the attendant who had come at Deneauve's command. He needed a distraction, something to avert attention away from the inevitable discovery of the girl's escape. It would be better if they were gone before that alarm went off.  
"Willem, how much time before we need to leave for Paris?" The question was abrupt, signaling Napoleon that there was something going on, something he had missed.  
"Ah...it is getting late. Ethan, at the risk of being rude, we must embrace the phrase 'eat and run', as our time is limited now that the evening has gotten away from us. In spite of poor Sergei's experiences, you have been an excellent host". The inclusion of poor Sergei's unfortunate treatment was intended to put the Frenchman slightly on edge, making him all the more intent on trying to please his guests. As they all rose from the table, Illya was barely able to maintain his usual blank expression; his concern for Genevieve and the need to depart nearly overcoming his cool veneer.  
Deneauve's men would naturally go first to the cottage at the end of the main passage, out near the road. What Illya had determined to do was to ride out with Napoleon, then double back to the little hidden cabin that was nestled into the landscape on the opposite side of the property. With the cover of night, he should be able to get to her unobserved, and then they could take a slightly altered route and meet up with Napoleon farther up the road. It was all he had, but it needed to be done quickly, before Deneauve got his men underway, before anything came back from Thrush. There really was not any room for error.

Deneauve's two guests were departing amid handshakes and refined observances of how well things had gone, inspite of the little mishaps with the girl and the bad information about Sergei and his brother. Now all was well, and Willem was only too glad to report back to Central on the excellent operation and management that he had found within Deneauve's chateau satrap. The handsome Thrush was secretly thrilled, his expectations high and his anticipation of the evening's next event adding to his euphoria. Genevieve would be the next point of entertainment, and he would have her clean up and present herself to him after the two men were gone. He hated to lose Sergei, for the sight of him and the girl might have been a very pleasant diversion from all of the business of the day. Ah well...another time, perhaps. For now, the girl would suffice.  
As the UNCLE men were pulling out of the circular drive and heading for the road to Tours, Illya prepared to jump out and head back towards the hiding place where he had left Genevieve. Napoleon would continue on for a mile and then pull into a grove of trees that should hide him sufficiently in the waning light. He opened his door as Napoleon slowed for him to roll out and into the low grass on the side of the road. Just in case anyone were watching, they needed to keep up the pretense of being together in the car. Napoleon then opened a channel and called Genevieve on the communicator Illya had left with her. "Open channel F, Genevieve, are you there?" He listened for the scratchy sound of the other device as she opened it and responded to his call.  
"Napoleon? Are you coming for me now?" Her voice sounded distant and tinny through the UNCLE marvel. The wonder of it struck the girl as she spoke into it now, then heard the man on other end reply:  
"Illya is coming for you. Don't go out until you hear his voice. And whatever you do, don't open the door to the passageway. In fact, block it with something...just in case". He and Illya had decided it was a possibility that the Thrush men might go in that direction and find the door leading into the hiding place. Since the Russian had come back that way, he hadn't been able to block it himself, and had neglected to consider it as he left Genevieve there...alone. "Yes, Napoleon, I will do it. I will do it now...thank you. I will see you soon, then...oui?" She let it hang in the air, as though there was some uncertainty.  
"Yes, just do as I said and wait for Illya. He'll be there". She closed the little pen contraption and went to the back room. Looking around she decided to use the bed, it was lightweight. She managed to get it up on it's side and propped it so that it blocked the use of the door handle. For good measure she pulled the little table over and placed it there as well. At least it would be difficult, should anyone try and come through. And the noise would give her time to get out...  
"Please, Illya...be here soon". She sighed and then settle down to wait for him.

Deneauve's man was afraid; the girl was gone, evidently back to the cottage by the road. He decided to go look for her first, before telling the boss of this little problem. Perhaps he would not need to know at all, if she could be found quickly. The temptation to proceed without alerting his boss lost out to the man's better judgement. Knowing that only he would be made to pay for any time that was lost locating the girl, the cautious Thrush guard hurried back to the main floor just as the two guests were departing. As Deneauve closed the door and turned back into the foyer, he was greeted by the agitated man whose duty it was to report the upsetting development.  
"Monsieur Devneauve, the girl is...she is gone". His expression held no comment on why she was there to begin with, only his remorse that she had escaped.  
"Gone...how? Are there any signs of another person there?". He knew of course who would have done this...Sergei. But where would he...' Immediately he knew she would be either in the cottage by the road or down another passageway.  
"Take some men with you and search the passageways, in all directions...and hurry!" With that he stormed back to the dining room to see if Sergei had left any clue. Seeing nothing, he proceeded upstairs to the bedroom the man had used. If Sergei had done this, then what part had Willem Vanmeter played in it? He dared not accuse the Thrush official, so perhaps it was without his knowledge. The wiley Russian had no doubt deceived the American, there was no other explanation.

As the three men searched through the dark passages, they decided to split up and let one go in the most obvious direction while the other two would take the newly discovered second opening. Perhaps the less traveled one would prove to be the correct choice. Pushing back the cobwebs and illuminating their steps with powerful flashlights, the two men kept a quick pace as they raced to the end. A door was visible, the latch looked as though it had been recently handled, some of the dusty metal showing areas that were less so. One of them took it in hand and pushed...nothing. There was something against the door, so the two of them heaved against it, causing some movement. Finally, with an extra effort and a determination to get through, they shoved against it with great force and the door gave way; the screeching of an impediment slowing their entry, but not stopping it.

Genevieve heard the racket from the door in the room behind her. Terrified of who might be coming through it, she quickly got up from her perch on the quilts and headed for the door at the front of the little hideaway. It was too late, the Thrush goons came barreling through the room towards her, catching her as she tried to exit. Her screams were loud enough that Illya, who was nearly there, heard them and quickened his pace as he ran towards their secret room. It took only a few seconds for the Russian to understand what had happened and jump into the frey, knocking one man out with a swift right to his jaw that caused a sound like breaking stones. The other assailant had Genevieve, a gun to her head as Illya swung around to face them.  
"I'll kill her. I think you know I will, so just take a breath and put your hands up...above your head". The instructions were banal sounding as Illya took in the situation. He could take this man, but he wasn't certain of how the girl would react; she might not get out of the way in time.  
"Let her go. Deneauve will get over it, and you can simply tell him that she was already gone. Why stand in the way of us now...how does it benefit you?" What were the chances the man would respond to this line of reasoning? Probably none. Still, there was nothing to lose by trying, so Illya went on...  
"Deneauve is just going to keep her here like a prisoner. Are you so far gone that you can do that to a woman? Let her have her life back...please". That last was for effect, but it seemed the grip on her was lessened just slightly as he took in the argument for mercy. Perhaps he wasn't as far gone as some of the other Thrushies they'd run into.

"Oh, don't try and reason with him, Sergei. I think perhaps I shall simply keep you both, since you seem to want to stay together". It was Deneauve, he had followed the men through the passage and was smirking in his peculiar way, nothing reaching his eyes by way of expression. The man was a lunatic...so typically Thrush.  
"Deneauve, let us go. I told Willem I would meet him back in Tours, that I had business to finish with you. He will be expecting me". Illya had to try something, anything, to convince the Frenchman that this was a lost cause. "Oh, I don't imagine he'll worry too much. After all, we're such good friends now, you and I. Willem will understand". Ah, but he wouldn't. Napoleon wouldn't, and he would come looking for him. It was not acceptable to have both of them caught here, though. The documents were already at Central by now, and the plans would begin to unfold the way UNCLE had orchestrated it to happen. He needed to get out of here, with Genevieve, and without alerting Thrush of the deception.  
"Alright, Ethan. I will stay...for now. What do you want from us?" Genevieve looked at Illya with an expression of alarm, her unspoken questions begging for an answer.  
"Sensible of you, Sergei. Why don't we go back to the house and...discuss this among ourselves. I'm certain we can come to an understanding, and something amenable to each of us". Illya had no intention of returning with the man, but he feinted a start in the direction before turning and backhanding Deneauve, yelling at Genevieve to get out and start running. He hoped that Napoleon was aware of the time enought to guess that something was wrong. He might have started in this direction by now.  
The man to whom Illya had made his plea was ready to pounce as Illya swung at him, landing a vicious blow to his midsection, then a hard chop to the back of his skull. He went down with a whimper and was out. Deneauve had regained his footing and raised the gun to shoot, his hand shaking with fury over the betrayal of this ungrateful Russian upstart. Illya took that uncertainty and knocked the gun from his hand as he battered his face with a severe punch from his right fist, sending the Frenchman back into a wall as his knees buckled beneath him.  
Three men were down as Illya surveyed the room. He had one incendiary with him; Napoleon had given it to him, foreseeing the posibility of a need to destroy this place. As he left, he tossed it into the room behind him, counting to ten as he began to run across the park once again. He glanced back and saw Deveauve in the doorway and then a blast that obliterated the view and everything within it. The plans were safe, and so was Genevieve. He caught up with her just as Napoleon was in sight, heading towards them and motioning towards the explosion.  
"What happened?" The CEA of UNCLE Northwest was back to being an UNCLE agent...no more pretense. He immediatley surmised that here had been danger, and was equally certain that his partner loved nothing more than blowing up things and places.  
"Well, what do you think, Napoleon. I had to make certain that Deneauve couldn't report this to Thrush. It will take a while for his men to get this figured out. The passage is blocked now, as well as the entrance from this side. I don't think they'll even figure out it's him for some time". Illya had Genevieve by the elbow, steering her towards the car. It had been a close call, but now they were certain there was nothing to impede their departure, nor anything to stop the plans made by UNCLE concerning the Thrush documents that had been doctored and passed back to Central.

When they were all three safely in the silver Mercedes, they began to make plans for their trip back to Paris. Etienne was waiting for them, along with several agents from the Paris office and an UNCLE helicopter, all on the outskirts of Tours. Illya and Napoleon needed to get on a flight back to New York, and reluctantly would leave both of the women to travel together back to the Paris headquarters.

When they reached the clearing where the helicopter had set down, waiting for the two men from New York, Illya pulled Genevieve aside to say his goodbyes. She had relagated their encounter to an affair of the heart that would never play itself out. One time, and that would be all that was between them. She understood, not that it made it easier. Nevertheless, she wouldn't have missed it for the world; he was worth the heartache.

Meanwhile, Etienne and Napoleon were saying their goodbyes as well. Not one to miss an opportunity, the American was conveying his goodbyes with a kiss that would guarantee the young lady was waiting for his next trip to Paris, his mouth full of promises that he would keep, just like always. Illya's farewell kiss remained on Genevieve's lips longer than he had intended, the effort to pull himself away from her now leaving him sad and drained, both physically and emotionally.  
"We won't be seeing each other again. There isn't any future for us, and I won't rob you of whatever you might have waiting for you with someone else. Do you understand?" He'd already been through this, but a sense of responsibility after their tryst in the little secret room made him feel somehow obligated to her, and reluctant to leave her...  
"Illya, I understood before you said anything. We are who we are, and your work is who you are...for now. If that ever changes, please look for me. I may still be here...rien n'est jamais compl tement fini, mon amour". She kissed him again, and then walked back to where Etienne was waiting for her, never looking back at the pale blond who watched her as she ducked into the Mercedes. 'Some things do end, mon Genevieve...' This was a woman who would be impossible to leave, if ever he let his heart become commited to her. Unlike his partner, affairs of the heart had consequence; he never could be frivolous about these things, so he guarded his heart and emotions and those of the women as well.  
The Russian's thoughts turned quickly then from the departing women back to their flight to Paris, and then to New York. If he lingered over the memory of the past day, beyond business that is, he would soon sink into one of his mute and resolute melancholy moods over the aborted love affair. It was his choice, but it was for the best. There was nothing to recommend remaining involved with her so long as his life was in the hands of UNCLE.

The flight to Paris was quick and uneventful. Thankfully, they were able to board their plane to New York with ease as well, taking their seats for the transatlantic flight, and grateful for the opportunity to sleep and hopefully rid themselves of the edge that remained from the past two days. It was almost unbelievable that this had all been accomplished in 48 hours; Thrush had the errant information that UNCLE had placed within the documents delivered by Deneauve's man, and operations were already underway that indicated the ploy was working perfectly. After checking in with Mr. Waverly, Napoleon had been informed that by the end of this day, Thrush would spend millions of dollars investing in dummy companies operated by the Command, as well as commit their personnel to assignments designed to entrap them in bogus schemes that appeared to be easy conquests for the power hungry criminals. Both Napoleon and Illya were grateful that their part in all of it was over; nothing remained except the obligatory reports over which at least one of them would labor. "So, my friend, how did it feel to command the attention of Monsier Deneauve? He seemed as though he would have done anything to gain your approval". Illya had been impressed, yet again, with his partner's ability to charm even a snake like Deneauve; the man had fairly drooled over the prospect of being recommended by Willem Vanmeter.  
Napoleon smiled in that curious fashion he had, curling his lip as he considered the power he had commanded.  
"You know, Illya...I should feel a little guilty about it, considering how it's all turned out. Somehow, I just can't drum up any sympathy for the man. And his plans for you...' He affected a shudder when thinking of how the Frenchman had leered at his partner. "He had his eyes on you, tovarisch.' He paused, examining his partner again and the strange appearance he'd taken on.  
" I'll be glad when you're back to normal". His eyes smiled at Illya, the affection and concern so real that the Russian was suddenly glad, no longer tormented by what might have been. This was his life, and his friend and partner helped make it good. Righting wrongs, saving the world...  
"I'm glad you have my back, Napoleon. And I'll be glad to see myself again. I don't know this man..." His words trailed off and the man next to him understood. What they did for a living, who they met and got involved with...none of it seemed real some days. But what they did mattered, and sometimes that made the sacrifice worthwhile.  
"Dinner at my place tonight?" The senior agent knew they would eat and then drink, maybe until the early morning hours and possibly until they couldn't see straight. It was alright. Illya could stay the night, and in the morning they'd go into headquarters late. But they'd go in together...friends...brothers...compatriots in a war few knew they were fighting.  
"Yes, that sounds good'...another pause as he examined his hands, looking for the right words...  
"Napoleon...I liked her very much". That was all, but he knew his friend understood what those few words conveyed about the heart of his Russian partner. "I know, tovarisch. Someday..."


End file.
